Chris McCully

The Tale of the Double Bunny

Sunday, 28 February 2010 at 17:01

Today reminded me of the big advantage of pike fly-fishing at this time of year. The advantage can be summarised in one phrase: slowness of presentation. It's true that a surface-running plug can be fished slowly, but whenever it stops it becomes inert. A softbait, too, can be fished slow and deep - but it can sink almost too readily in those shallow, dead-weeded waters favoured by pike in late February. A jerkbait.... Again, like a plug, a jerkbait becomes inert when it's not being pulled. A spoon? Ah yes, the spoon: fantastic lures, often (I suspect) overlooked these days as somehow old-fashioned. The spoon flutters as it falls....but once again, it can sink almost too quickly in water less than 1m deep.

A streamer, on the other hand, if properly tied is full of action and the illusion of life even as it sinks. Fished on a floating or slow-sinking fly-line, a big(gish) streamer can be worked and hung over likely pike-lies. A hunting pike - a fish whose metabolism is now, in these low ambient water temperatures, slow but a fish which nevertheless must eat in order to pack on remaining weight before spawning - has time to get its shot in at such a relatively slow-moving 'prey'.

I owe the streamer pictured to my reader, Michael Johnson: he it was who suggested tying a loop of wire in at the tail (to prevent the rabbit strip(s) fouling the bend of the hook), and he it was who told me what I should already have known, but didn't, and that is that a zonker strip cut lengthwise with a razor into thinner strips sheds water more quickly than a single, bulkier zonker strip. Last year, too, I had a peek into the pike box of Rudy van der Meer, that peerless caster and fly-dresser, and there found some rather winning double rabbit-strip patterns tied on 4/0 barbless hooks. I took these observations and hints and made some of my own Double Bunnies. Black and yellow was the motif I was working with (black for contrast and silhouette when seen against the light, yellow for a hint of colour when seen laterally by cold, predatory eyes). They seem to work: today, during a short, windy and excessively wet session I pulled three pike and landed one, a polder fish of 70cm or so (around 6lb. and unusually lively with it). What was significant about that fish, in the context of the foregoing, was that it moved to the streamer three times before it finally took it. The pike was just taking its time to be convinced, and needed persuading that the expense of energy used in securing its 'prey' would be compensated by the ease of capture and the value of it. That was my cue to keep on hanging that Double Bunny....

And that was the Tale of the Double Bunny.

The shad-shredder

Saturday, 27 February 2010 at 18:40

It was a day which tried hard to be spring and perhaps would have almost succeeded were it not for the facts that (a) the waters of Groningen and Friesland weren't yet completely unfrozen and that (b) there was a vicious, squally and chilly wind. In places on windward shores, rafts of thawing ice ground against the weather; the sky was still full of winter birds, the turbulent air with hoarse whistlings - the strange and unmistakable call of wigeon, which I privately think of as the voices of winter, of empty space and loneliness.

Jan Willem and I chose to fish a small dike in Friesland. We were looking for a narrow, shallow, clear water which was nevertheless connected to some bigger lake. The theory was that the bigger pike, having passed the frozen weeks in whatever sheltered place they could find in the lake, start during February to move into those smaller canals - canals often full of dead vegetation - where eventually they will spawn.

JW pulled the first pike, a fit, fat fish of some 70cm which had annexed that classic lure, a Rapala J11. Retrieved, the J11 looked like a manic banana. I'd tackled up, meanwhile, with a no-name shad rigged on a 7g wide-gape, debarbed jig-hook with a trailing treble (also debarbed). I moved nothing for an hour, during which time JW hooked and dropped another pike. 'Want to borrow a Rapala?' he called across the wind. I thought briefly about saying Yes to the manic banana, largely because the crippled, noisy action of the J11 will often incite a lethargic pike into a take whereas straighter-actioned, more quietly-moving lures will be ignored. Still, I stayed with the no-name shad out of nothing more than a battered kind of loyalty. The shad clearly decided that this kind of middle-aged non-virtue was its own reward, because at the end of one cast there was a sullen flash under the shad as it waggled subtly past a bed of dead reed stems in which dead lily leaves floated. A trick of the light? A fancy of the polaroids? Another cast and.... The shad was annexed in a slow, yellow and cream, underwater hurtle. The result is shown in the photo (courtesy JW). It was a fish certainly of a good 80cm, and probably around 9lbs or so - a fine fish for any Dutch polder.

The only problem with no-name shads (and their close cousins, the equally wonderful Mann's shads) are that they're vulnerable in pike teeth. I've spent many an evening with a sailor's lighter - a sort of miniature electronic and wind-proof flame-thrower - sealing the rents in shad-rubber. Yes, pike are great shad-shredders.... And I bet that you, like me, can't say 'shad-shredder' ten times at speed without shradding your shed.

The weather-people

Wednesday, 24 February 2010 at 09:35

'The winter is no more,' said the nice telly weatherman, having told us a few days ago that there would be an 'overtuigende dooi' - a convincing thaw (please see next entry). This endless bloody winter....

The winter = no more idea sounded like a pretty good one to me, so this morning I rushed - fine, I lurched a bit - to the window and looked out. To hear the first blackbirds of spring? To watch the crocuses drive through the green fuse (etc.)? A hint of west and freshness in the wind?

The continual east wind, which has blown from December 10th, was doing its thing. A few bluetits croaked monotonously and arhythmically at the gale. Snow fell, followed by wet snow, followed by a laughing handful of hailstones. The water in the local canal is still frozen; the water in the field-side ditches is frozen; the water in the furrows in stricken ploughland is frozen. There's nowhere that water can function as a sky-reflecting view. The world is matt.

Last winter, under similar (though not as persistently dreadful) circumstances, I tied flies - tied more flies than I have for several decades. The result is thirty over-stocked fly-boxes and a severe case of an absence of real motivation to tie more. I've tied a few - some lovely Czech nymphs, a handful of tiny dry-flies, some sea-trout patterns, three or four sailfish tandems - but I look at the already stuffed fly-boxes, sigh rather wearily and wonder what the hell I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I teach myself new tying techniques, of course, but wonder again why and for whom I'm doing so. I re-read favourite angling books, only to find I have almost all of those favourites by heart anyway. I read new titles, but generally find them so poorly written, so repetitious of prior and dubious non-wisdom, that I want to throw them in the fire. I order tackle on-line - only to find that the payments go astray, the deliveries go unaccountably missing or the stuff is not in stock.

Therefore.... I perform open-heart surgery on the float-tube; run three waistcoats through the washing machine and all its puzzling buttons; wince manfully and offer two fishing hats to the same terrible and complicated source; ream new leather laces through two pairs of wading boots; re-organise the travelling dop-kit; sort out the travelling First Aid provision; re-deploy old towels; grease spring-clips; check landing-net magnets; load up torches (3) with new batteries.... Re-work; renew; refresh. Then I throw another log on the fire and am merely and trivially grumpy.

Yes, this is winter. It is winter still. Whatever the weather-people may say, winter has never apparently gone away.

Thaw...

Sunday, 21 February 2010 at 13:36

'There's hardly any snow left' said the nice television weatherman, 'anywhere in the Netherlands.... But here's a picture from one of our viewers in the province of Groningen....'

This is the second consecutive winter where many of us, particularly those of us in the Dutch north, have been unable to fish for pike between mid-December and the middle (or as this year, near the end) of February. The waters began to freeze here on December 10th. There was a very brief - a two day - respite in later December, but then severe frost and snow set in once again, and have lasted until now. Since I usually stop pike fishing at the end of February, this leaves perhaps one remaining weekend of the present season in which to fish for pike. The irony was that despite making fewer outings than normal I'd had a rather good October and November among pike and zander, and was anticipating great things over the winter, but....

But I've tied flies. I've read and re-read. I've corresponded. I've laid plans. I've had a very good, even an unhealthy, fiddle with my tackle. But...

But I hate the Dutch weather-gods, sometimes.

Sailfish 1: Running out of Malindi

Wednesday, 10 February 2010 at 07:03

I never really thought I'd ever do it. Too expensive - too far - too chancy - out of the question.

Last week I spent a day fly-fishing for sailfish off the Kenyan coast at Malindi. No, I didn't land any sailfish, but we raised three and I hooked two of them, briefly - briefly enough to know without a shadow of a doubt this is something I shall want to do again.

Malindi is sited inside a shallow reef. Beyond the reef, the black-blue waters of the Indian ocean begin. When the kashkazi monsoon winds blow onshore in November-February each year this drives the plankton shorewards. The sardines follow the plankton. The sailfish and the marlin follow the sardines (and their predators, which include bonito). The result is that Malindi is one of the best places in the world to raise a sailfish. (The Gulf of Mexico, the waters off Venezuela, and some Atlantic marks also offer good possibilities.)

The day begins at dawn in Malindi harbour. The angling outfit Kingfisher (www.kenyasportfishing.net) runs a fleet of five larger vessels (trolling for marlin and other bluewater species) and one smaller one - a 22 foot platform called Malachite which is ideal for one or two fly-fishers.

What follows is a short tour of what was a very exciting morning.

Sailfish 2: The lovely clutter

Wednesday, 10 February 2010 at 06:59

What's critical in 'fly-fishing' for sailfish and marlin is teasing the fish up. This depends firstly on the skill and local knowledge of the crew, and secondly on the (hookless) lures you use to do the teasing: Kona lures, fake squids, fake octopus, strings of 'birds' (wooden fish which clatter about in the wake of your boat)....

The sailfish, seeing and sensing the commotion provided by these teasers and suspecting, perhaps, a shoal of fish whose numbers are fleeing or crippled, come in to take a closer look, and are thereafter teased up ever closer to the boat until they're in casting range.

Sailfish 3: 'Fly-fishing' tackle

Wednesday, 10 February 2010 at 06:36

'Fly-fishing' is of course a misnomer in the sailfish context. If you're going to have a crack at this game you need to make a serious investment in a tough set of gear - or you could always (as I did) borrow it.

Rods are minimum 12-weight, and in places where marlin run alongside the sails then you might be better with something in the 14- or 16-weight class. (Hardys [Zane] and Greys [XD] make 12-weights, but 14- and 16-weights are specialised tools. Cam Sigler rods, for example, are available from UK Saltwater Flies.  Orvis also produce a 14-weight.) These rods typically have fighting grips, which are used to put pressure on the fish when they sound deep and try to stay there.

Everything you've ever read about reels for saltwater fishing is true. They need to have big wide-arbour drums, be supremely ventilated, hold a minimum 300 yards of minimum 30lb. backing (or 60-70lb. Powerpro, which may be even better and will pack onto the spool), and be rinsable at the end of the day. A sailfish can run at 60-70m.p.h., so the brake must be lightly set during that first run and then tightened when the fish is being played. It follows, therefore, that the brake(s) must be easy to work and fully adjustable. I confess that I find Hardy's Zane reels very good in all these respects.

Marketed for sailfish, tarpon and so on are full-length fly-lines with hard tropical coatings (so that the fly-line doesn't melt and go sticky in the heat). To be blunt I doubt you need a full fly-line. With a 12-weight rod you'll be lucky to cast 20 yards, and are often working at closer quarters at those times you're teasing the fish to take. I think if I were putting together my own set of tackle that I'd run 100 yards of 40lb. nylon onto the front end of the backing - the nylon to provide some stretchiness - and then attach the nylon to a 10 or 11 yard sinking shooting head via an Albright Knot. At the front end of the head I'd form a loop by means of a stainless crimp, and then attach the butt end of the leader via a loop-to-loop connection.

There are many complicated regulations, constructed by IGFA, about what you may and should use as leaders. These regulations are there in case you want to claim record fish, e.g. a 70lb. sail caught on a '20lb class tippet' and so on. Such regulatory leaders are typically made from a thicker butt piece which then leads via a Bimini twist to the 20lb. link, which is then attached to a shorter 12-inch shock leader of 100lb. nylon or fluorocarbon.

I ignored all of that fiddle. I'm not interested in records, but I am interested in playing fish in the shortest time possible and returning them safely to the ocean. I'd use 5 feet of mimimum 80lb. nylon or fluorocarbon, and attach it to the 'fly' via a crimped loop.

The 'fly' is a baitfish representation. The great pioneers discovered during the 1980s and 90s that ultra-large poppers were the prescription. They're best tied on tandem hooks, size ranges 4/0 to 7/0. That said, during my short adventure I raised sails both on a popper and on a 4/0 baitfish pattern I'd tied myself. In future I'll tie some more tandem poppers, I think, if only because (a) the lure is tremendously easy to see even in a big wave and (b) it's one of the most exciting things I know, seeing a massive sailfish come after the surface-running lure. Such poppers should be 10-12 inches long. It goes without saying that hooks should be ultra-tough saltwater irons - Mustad make a good brand.

I'd taken 10-weight gear - stepped-up pike fly-fishing gear - and thought I could probably get away with it. I was wrong. You need specialised stuff. I hope these few notes help.